


A Brand New World

by Daiya



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, BAMF Stiles, Character Death, F/M, Horror, Lydia/Stiles awesome friendship, M/M, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 05:31:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daiya/pseuds/Daiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he woke up on Friday, December 21, he squeezed his arms and legs, then opened his eyes, taking his time watching the morning light dance around his bedroom before chuckling. “Still alive.” he has mumbled, hiding back into his covers “Take that, Crazies.” He has stayed like that for a few long, cozy minutes, until a sound, a high-pitched, terrified scream took him out of his dozing state, entirely awake, his eyes fully open and his body painfully tense. </p><p>Sure, Stiles is still alive, but maybe it is the end of the world, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brand New World

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about it for a long time, and I finally wrote it. I hope it's not that bad. I'm French, but I did my best not to let it be too obvious.
> 
> I want to thank my betas, **gkpudding** and **WritingJustToWrite**. Thanks for your help, your advice, your kindness. I couldn't have done it without you both.
> 
> First time publishing here, so if I messed up with the tags, or the publishing, or anything else... Let me know!

When he awoke this morning, Stiles didn't have even one tiny idea about what was going to happen. Even if his mind sometimes leads him to strange thoughts about things that people don't usually think about – blame it on ADHD – he is more a down-to-earth kind of guy than an imaginative one. Or that is what he is telling himself anyway, (because he always, _always_ , wonders about what words mean. Like, why call a chair a chair? Seriously, what a  _weird_  word.).

They have talked about it for weeks. The end of the world, the apocalypse, the final battle, the destruction of the civilization, whatever they calls it. Stiles remembers precisely what particular day that Scott and him made fun of those people who were buying stupid masks and tons of canned foods while saying they would stay inside those everything-proof rooms. They had even thought about getting one of these apocalypse masks to piss Derek off. 

One afternoon, as they were lazily trying to work for their English test, they had talked about what could possibly happen if the Crazies (that was what Stiles had dubbed them) were right, and what they would do about it. Scott said he would take Allison with him and hide somewhere next a river or something, and that he would go hunt in the woods. As if Scott, the biggest puppy ever, would be able to kill a cute deer. Ever since he got turned into a big bad wolf, or at least attempted to be one, Scott could scare people off easily. However, ask him to kill an animal and he will be crying for weeks for killing Bambi's mom. 

Yeah, they have talked about it. A lot. Stiles read articles, snorting all the way. He watched his neighbor, Mr. Stanson, come back with dozens of flash lights and batteries, with bags full of matches and cans of chicken soup. It was just something funny, and Stiles has been looking forward to the end of the week to laugh about it all. 

So when he wakes on Friday, December 21, he squeezes his arms and legs, then opens his eyes, taking his time, watching the morning light dance around his bedroom before chuckling. “Still alive.” He mumbles, hiding back under his covers. “Take that, Crazies.” He stays like that for a few long, cozy minutes, until a sound, a high-pitched, terrified scream tore him out of his dozy state. He jerks up, entirely awake, his eyes fully open and his body painfully tense.

Sure, Stiles is still alive, but maybe it  _is_  the end of the world, after all.

****

Stiles stays still for a couple of minutes, maybe more. He tries to listen as best as possible, straining to hear every single noise. But the only thing his ears seem to discern is the relentless tic-tock of his old alarm clock. And for the thousandth time he wishes he has that super awesome werewolf hearing. He knows his dad is supposed to be at the station right now, so it's logical that he's not able to hear anything but his own heartbeat. His fingers are aching from gripping the sheets too hard and he's pretty sure he hasn't blinked for at least ten minutes.

Slowly, careful not to make any noise, Stiles gets out of the bed. He mentally slaps himself for being so stupid, for letting those Crazies get to him. What was he thinking? That some kind of apocalypse has started when he was still sleeping, and that he was the only one still alive, peacefully hidden under his covers? He snorts. If his father was here – hell, if the entire pack have seen him a few minutes ago – they would all tell him he should stop watching Zombie movies (which he won’t. They are the truest form of entertainment.).

Now completely awake, Stiles almost runs to the bathroom, finally realizing how late he is for school. He showers quickly, not even having to take care of his now non-existent hard-on –  _thanks_  to you, Crazies. 

He's wrapping the towel around his hips when he hears it again. This time, the scream is low, deep-toned, and it lasts longer. Long enough for Stiles to be missing air somehow. But now he's afraid to breathe, he's afraid to take a step. Hell, Stiles is afraid to  _live_  right now, and he doesn't move, even though he wants to hide, or go to the window and be  _sure_. Even if the drops of water sliding down his chest are tickling, even if he's freezing to death. 

He waits, and waits and he feels numb and nauseous. And then there's another sound, a sound alike a car being smashed against a wall, and there are more harsh, violent noises, more screams of terror. Stiles runs to his bedroom, towel slipping on the ground somewhere along the way. He prudently rips open the curtain and when he looks outside, he can't help the gasp that gets out of his lips.

Blood. Everywhere. 

Dark-red smears along the pavement, carmine stains on the walls, the cars, the mailboxes. Stiles is hanging out with werewolves on a daily basis. He has seen people dying, supernatural creatures bleeding  _way too much_. He has spent countless time at the hospital and around too many different human-beings. But he has never,  _ever_ , seen as much blood as he has now. It's like a scene from _Carrie_ , or from one of those bad slashers he loves to watch on Friday nights. It's unreal, surreal, way too damn much to take in. 

It can't be true, right? It can't be real, so Stiles pinches himself hard and it hurts but the blood is still there, right in front of him, as if someone has decided to repaint the neighborhood. But it's not fake, and suddenly Stiles' heart is beating furiously, painfully, so loudly that he's sure his furry friends can hear it from the other side of the town.

Stiles moves backwards, stumbling over his bed. He's about to have a panic attack, he knows it. He can feel his entire body shaking and he just _can't_  breathe.

****

Stiles doesn't know how long he stayed sitting on his bed, breathing in and out slowly. Probably just a few minutes, even though it feels like an hour. But the panic attack is over now, and his mind is racing. He needs to stay calm, he needs to focus and think about what to do now. He doesn't know what's happening, even if his geeky mind is shouting 'zombies, zombies, zombies!’, like some kind of freaky magic spell. There, he's becoming one of those Crazies. He has totally lost it. Maybe... Maybe if he gets ready, if he tries to be as composed as possible, he won't get totally nuts.

So he rummages through his night table, taking out his bottle of Adderall. He takes two before putting the bottle on his bed. He has to prepare himself, but first of all he needs to know if he's alone or not. So he grabs his cellphone and hits his first speed dial number. It rings, once, twice, and a couple more but Stiles ends up on Scott's voicemail and not trusting his voice, he hangs up. His fingers are shaking when he types _'Where are you?! Call me or text me but DON'T GO OUTSIDE before you've talked to me. I'm serious. Like, not even if Allison is horny and dancing around naked, just DON’T GO.'_

Then he tries to call his dad on his cellphone and at the station, without success. Stiles feels like crying but he doesn't. He knows he's on the verge of another panic attack but he breathes deeply, composing himself, before trying another number.  
A grunt answers him after the first ring. For a few seconds, Stiles doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what is causing all this blood and screams, he can't be sure of anything, he can't be certain it's still a real  _person_  at the end of the line. So he waits for a sign,  _anything_. “Stiles?” And just like that he's able to breathe again. “Derek.” He whispers, and he shuts his eyes against the threatening tears. 

“Are you... Are you okay?” Stiles asks softly, voice barely perceptible. He can hear soft rustling as if Derek is getting out of bed. When he answers, Stiles knows he's walking. “Of course I am.” Derek's tone is cold, sharp, and annoyed and Stiles is sure he's bothering him. But he doesn't care right now. He'll deal with angry Derek later, when he won't be on the edge of crying and freaking out. “There's something wrong.” He says, voice shaking “There's blood everywhere outside. And... and people are screaming and I'm sure I saw a body, someone  _dead_  next to my porch and... Oh my god!” Stiles jumps up and runs down the stairs, realizing just now that he hasn't even checked for the entrances. His mind is now focused on the body he has seen through his window, terror making him gasp. He can hear Derek shouting at him through the forgotten phone’s speaker clenched into his fist, but he doesn't listen. He almost jumps on the front door and the threat of dying if he opens it almost doesn’t stop him. He has to see who this body is behind the door, yet he doesn't. 

He locks it before doing the same with the one leading to the garage. His head is pounding and he has to sit down to catch his breath. He tries to remember what he's supposed to do to protect the house. He’s read about it and saw it tons of time, but his brain doesn't seem to want to cooperate.

Derek's voice is still here, somewhere, and Stiles realizes he must have dropped his phone. He crawls to it while swallowing hard. “I'm here” He murmurs as soon as the phone is pressed against his ear. “What is going on?!” Growls Derek in return, and Stiles doesn't know what to say to him. “I'm not sure.” He wants to add that he's thinking of zombies but he keeps it to himself. He doesn't need a pissed off Derek right now. “Where are you?” The werewolf asks. “Home.” Breathes Stiles, sitting up straight against the wall, with his free arm wrapping around his legs. “On my way.” And Stiles wants to tell him not to, he wants to ask him to be careful, but Derek has already hung up.

He slowly stands up and goes back to his room. Everything is spinning, his vision is kind of blurry, but he forces himself to dress before checking his desk to find what he needs. The book – yes, that one about how to survive surrounded by freaking living dead – is right where he remembers, along with the notebook scribbled with things he has learnt about the subject and thought he would need one day. Hell, seems like this time has finally come. He is not as enthusiastic about it as he has dreamt he would. He places the book next to the Adderall bottle but keeps the notebook and opens it at the first page. He takes a pen and scrupulously strikes some parts of the list. He's about to cross out 'whistle' when he hears a furious knock on his window. 

It's Derek, and he seems to be safe and sound, without a scratch or even a trace of blood. Stiles opens the window, sighing, and closes it behind the werewolf, shutting the curtain. Derek stays still, shoulders tense and eyes fixed on Stiles. If it wasn't that specific time, you know the one when some kind of morbid carnival was happily happening outside right the _fuck_ now, Stiles would make fun of Derek's constipated faces, when he only tries to look serious or threatening. Stiles always wonders if Derek simply is constipated, which would suck. “It's zombies, right?” Stiles asks instead, because _dammit Stiles, focus!_ Derek nods slowly before turning back to the window, watching it like he's able to see through the curtain. “Or something similar.” Derek adds.

Stiles whines and hides his face behind his hands. Holy fuck, the Crazies are right, and they are all going to die. Jesus, Stiles can't die as a freaking virgin, for God's sake!


End file.
